


Masked Mischief and Misunderstandings

by Mossyrock



Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), But not quite, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), It's a Tease, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Mutual Pining, almost getting together, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 11:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossyrock/pseuds/Mossyrock
Summary: A lavish masquerade ball, where everyone is anonymous – even a certain angel and demon. What could possibly happen when all inhibitions are left at the door?For my Ineffable Husbands bingo prompt - Free Space. Because I wanted to write this and it didn't fit any of my other prompts.





	Masked Mischief and Misunderstandings

Masquerade balls were the latest trend and Crowley was definitely in favour. From her millennia of experience, she’d learnt the things people did when anonymous and in large crowds – when there were fewer consequences – were far more sinful than they'd usually allow themselves to indulge in.

Lavish balls were also the domain of the rich and powerful, giving her the opportunity to slip in undercover, whisper in the right ears, a little demonic influence here and there, and slip out without having to do much at all. It made her job almost too easy.

And it did wonders for her reports to head office.

This next ball was to be held by the new French king. The entire palace was going to be opened to every noble family in Europe, along with any common folk who wished to join in the festivities – and who could afford the costumes. It was designed to be the most elaborate masquerade yet. It wasn’t just masks on sticks that were abandoned at the sight of food and drink. This was intricate costumes, wigs and full-face masks, constructed to completely hide the wearer’s identity. If someone were easily recognised, they’d failed.

It was the perfect chance for a little mischief.

Crowley had planned her costume weeks in advance. Her dress was black with accents of a deep crimson red in all the places she wanted eyes drawn to. It had jewels dotted here and there to show off her status and wealth. It was luxurious and low cut – lower cut than would otherwise be socially acceptable – but since no one here knew her, there was no reason not to play with fire. It hugged her waist and showcased her tall, willowy figure.

Her hair wasn’t going be concealed with a wig, unlike most. She was going to wear her hair long and intricately styled, since the red of her outfit complemented it so perfectly. She knew her hair was envied, so why not show it off?

She adorned her ears and neck with countless rubies that would’ve cost a fortune, if she’d bought them.

The mask she’d designed was adorned with black and red feathers and two subtle little horns at the top. A little private joke for herself, even if no one else noticed. It also included two pieces of red coloured glass that hid her eyes.

All in all, she looked like lust incarnate, which would serve her plans perfectly.

* * *

Aziraphale loved masquerade balls. Unlike the usual balls, so rigid and formal, masquerades gave everyone a chance to let go of their worries for a few hours and relax. It equalised people. If no one knew who was behind the mask – a prince or a pauper – it meant that it was a chance for each to walk in the others’ shoes, if just for a moment.

He loved that.

He actively facilitated it, by adding a few quick miracles where necessary to ensure people stayed anonymous and had a jolly good time.

Aziraphale had followed the masquerade trend from one side of Europe to the other, while also fulfilling his Heavenly duties. He’d decided to attend the biggest and grandest ball yet without even a second thought. There was sure to be a delightful spread of delicious food, as well as general merriment in the air. It was exactly the kind of event Aziraphale loved.

The whole trend was some of the most fun he’d had in centuries.

He’d chosen a new costume for this ball, rather than recycling an old one. In the past, he’d worn bright colours and outlandish masks. No one knew him, so he could get away with a little bit of eccentricity that may not otherwise be considered acceptable by the Higher Ups, who favoured the more muted tones of white, cream and, if they were feeling slightly festive, light blue so light it was hardly blue at all.

For this occasion, since it was an event attended by the most noble of families and royalty – along with some common folk – Aziraphale decided it called for something a little more sophisticated. He ordered in the finest silks and golden thread. His costume of cream, gold and silver was so fine that it almost seemed a shame to wear it. He decided that he would abstain from red wine, in case of stains. He could always miracle them away, but they were best avoided anyway. He didn't need head office asking about silly miracles again. Every time they got a little more stern. 

His mask was all gold and silver, with golden feathers adorning the sides, like wings. He quite liked the aesthetic of the angelic theme, so adorned his soft blond curls with a slim golden circlet. It was hardly noticeable, sinking almost completely into his hair, and it resembled the halos that angels in art wore. No one else would notice or care, but Aziraphale was pleased, nonetheless.

His costume was perhaps a little too extravagant for an angel. But when would there be another night like this one?

* * *

The night of the ball arrived, and Crowley stepped out of her carriage with great care, and with help from a doorman, who nearly tripped on his own feet at the sight of her. Cobblestones and high heels had seemed like a great idea when she'd invented them, until she had to navigate them herself. Nevertheless, she had been wearing heels since before they officially existed (yet another one of her inventions), so it was nothing she couldn't handle with a few little miracles to keep her steady. She could still swagger just as well in heels as she could in men’s shoes.

The heels enhanced the sway of her hips in a way she knew affected men and women alike. She enjoyed inspiring jealousy and lust. She never did anything about it, of course. Hell would have a fit if she ever consorted with humans, but if she could inspire sinful thoughts – and maybe turn those thoughts into actions with other humans – that was considered a win.

The ball hadn’t yet officially begun. Before the ball, men were to gather in one hall and women in another. This way, when the two sexes met, even happily married couples would be hard pressed to recognise or find each other in the sea of thousands of bodies.

Just how Crowley wanted it. She couldn’t have designed it better if she’d tried.

She felt Aziraphale’s holiness from the second he arrived. His positive energy filled the palace and Crowley cursed him, while secretly rejoicing. They hadn’t seen each other in decades. Crowley had wondered when they might run into each other again. Not that she’d been counting the days, of course. It’s not like she missed him or thought about going to find him or anything. But she did miss squaring off against a worthy opponent or at least, since the inception of the Arrangement, trading off on the work. Doing everything by herself was incredibly tiresome.

Her heart leapt at the chance to see the angel again, but it did rather put a damper on her plans of absolute sin and debauchery. Perhaps she could persuade him to let her have this one and the next one would be his. A win-win situation. 

* * *

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s presence from the second he stepped from his carriage. Crowley’s unique brand of demonic force had become a constant throughout the millennia. Crowley had disappeared a few decades ago and Aziraphale hadn’t seen him since. Not that he missed the demon, of course. One didn’t miss their enemy. That would be ridiculous. 

Although, things had been somewhat lonely, with no other supernatural beings with whom to share his time. It wasn’t as if he could start a conversation with a human about how much he missed France three centuries ago. He’d learnt long ago that conversations like that earned him odd looks and threats of being locked up in asylums.

Aziraphale entered the men’s waiting area, but when Crowley’s energy stayed too distant, he knew Crowley was presenting as a female, and no doubt here to cause trouble. But he wouldn’t let her. Tonight was his. Europe had been ravaged by war and disease and the people deserved at least one night of fun.

When the doors opened, Aziraphale was hit by the feeling of Crowley so hard it almost sent him reeling. She was definitely here to cause trouble, if the feeling of darkness and temptation in the air was anything to go by. It was almost suffocating.

Aziraphale could see it affecting the humans as they mingled. People danced a little too close, ate a little too much, felt themselves being tempted to do all sorts of evil things.

But Aziraphale was above the temptation.

Mostly...

He scoured the ballroom, searching for a familiar face, but of course, he was thwarted by the masks and elaborate costumes. He concentrated on the feeling of her, so well known after so long together.

Following his senses, he found her. She was leaning leisurely against a wall, dressed in her usual black. Aziraphale almost wanted to sigh indulgently at the demonic influence in her mask – honestly, horns? - but he bit it back. No use giving her the satisfaction.

* * *

Crowley sensed Aziraphale approaching and tried to maintain a cool air of indifference. That was helped greatly by the fact that her face was hidden, so she could watch his approach without worrying about being caught. He looked good, what of him she could see. His hair was longer than she’d ever seen, the golden curls falling about his ears rather fetchingly. She wanted to laugh at the angelic theme he’d adopted for the night. It seemed that great minds did indeed think alike.

He always was the light to her darkness.

He stopped next to her, but didn’t initiate conversation, merely looking out at the dancing crowd. His whole demeanour was rather tense. That wasn’t unusual for him, but in a place where everyone else was enjoying themselves, it seemed out of place.

“Come here often, stranger?" She teased, breaking the silence between them. If she deliberately pitched her voice a little deeper than normal, it was just a part of her disguise, nothing more.

“Oh, no. This is my first time here,” He answered, clearly flustered, “You?” He asked. Crowley couldn’t see his face, so she couldn’t see if he was looking at her or if he was still watching the twirling masses.

“Mine too. I like your costume. Very… Holy,” She purred. He stammered out a reply that barely resembled words. It wasn’t like Aziraphale to be nervous around her.

That was when it struck Crowley that perhaps Aziraphale _didn’t_ recognise her. After all, they’d never openly discussed their ability to sense each other's supernatural auras. Every time they'd 'run into' each other, it'd been Crowley who'd sought the angel out, not the other way around. 

If he didn’t recognise her, this could be her chance to get to know the angel as a neutral being. No history to get between them or make him watch his words, in case one of their head offices were keeping an eye on them.

It seemed insane that he couldn’t recognise her, given they’d known each other since the beginning of the Earth, but perhaps she’d done a better job of her masquerade than she’d thought, to fool even Aziraphale.

She could have some fun with that.

* * *

Aziraphale approached Crowley, carefully skirting around the multitudes of dancing people. As he approached her, she remained completely still and unaffected. It made him falter. He could recognise and sense her demonic influence, but what if she couldn’t sense his angelic presence? What if she thought he was just a regular human?

If she didn’t know who he was, they could talk to each other as equals and not have to worry about the other watching their every move. It was a case of plausible deniability, should anybody (like Gabriel for example) ask. '_The demon Crowley? She was disguised. How was I to know it was that wily serpent_?' He would say, using his most angelic, innocent look. 

Though perhaps, now he thought about it, the angelic symbolism of his costume wasn’t a fantastic idea, but he hadn’t anticipated seeing her here. Hoped, perhaps, but not expected.

When her opening comment wasn’t directed at him, as Aziraphale, but as a stranger, enquiring as to the other person’s familiarity with the royal palace, it solidified the idea that she didn’t know who he was. There was no ‘_nice to see you, angel_,’ or ‘_done any interesting miracles lately?_’. It wasn’t like Crowley to be so aloof and impersonal, not with Aziraphale. Not since Rome at least.

He stuttered out a reply, too busy wondering if he should correct her assumptions or not. It was wrong to lie, of course. But if Aziraphale didn’t correct a false belief, was that really a lie?

He ignored the voices that sounded very much like Gabriel and Michael yelling ‘Yes!’ in his mind.

He kept his eyes forward, trying not to let himself look at the highly immodest dress that she’d chosen to wear. He just needed to keep his eyes on her mask.

Though if no one could see him looking, did it matter?

“So, do you dance?” She asked seductively.

That proved it! Crowley knew angels didn’t dance. So she didn’t know who he was. Aziraphale could still fix her assumption and let her know it was him, but there was something in him that begged him to just play along. Everyone else had forgotten their worries at the door. Why couldn’t he?

Just for one night, that was all.

“I don’t know how to dance,” He admitted. That earned a chuckle from his companion.

“Would you like to learn?” She suggested. If he’d been thinking clearly, he would’ve said no. Angels didn’t – and couldn’t – dance. But instead, he found himself nodding and taking her hand.

* * *

Crowley had been joking about the dancing, knowing Aziraphale didn’t dance. But when he held his hand out, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that. She took his hand and it suddenly occurred to her that as much time as they spent together, they didn’t touch. She couldn’t remember the last time they had, or if they had ever so much as brushed against each other. Maybe a little part of her worried that Aziraphale’s holiness would burn her, or her hellishness would taint him.

But his hand was soft and warm as it met hers and nothing happened. No lightning or great retribution. Just the feeling of skin on skin. It sent a shiver down her spine.

She led him out of their corner onto the dance floor. For a moment, she fumbled. She was teaching him, but she was the female, so should she lead? Should she assume the male position or the female?

Aziraphale seemed to sense her hesitation, because his hand settled on her shoulder. He was careful to place it on the tiny sliver of fabric of her dress, rather than the skin of her collarbone or shoulder. He was ever the gallant gentleman. What Crowley wouldn’t give to see his face. She could just bet that it was bright red. Especially as she settled her hand at his waist. The fabric of his costume was so soft that she wanted to stroke it, but she focussed herself back on the task at hand.

How was she supposed to teach anyone to dance when she couldn’t dance very well herself? She decided she could figure it out as she went.

“Ready?” She asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” He chuckled. That almost made Crowley stumble the first step. Had she ever heard him laugh a proper, honest laugh?

There was something about this night, the atmosphere, that had them both feeling giddy and free.

She pulled him closer, settling her hand at the small of his back, desperate to hear that laugh again, breath tickling against her ear. But Aziraphale didn’t know it was her behind the mask. If he did, he would never let himself be so carefree. Or let himself get so close. 

It hurt, but she would take what she could get.

* * *

Aziraphale let himself be pulled closer. Crowley hesitantly began to copy the couples around them and Aziraphale followed as best he could. But they each trod on the other’s toes in equal measure, until they were both limping and laughing. It was nice to hear Crowley laugh. The demon never seemed to let herself relax enough to really enjoy the moment. Aziraphale wished that she could act like this with him, rather than a stranger. It made his heart constrict.

“Perhaps neither of us were built for dancing,” He huffed in a laugh. Crowley slowly brought them to a halt.

“Perhaps not,” Her voice sounded sad, wistful.

Aziraphale wanted to be able to see her face and make her laugh again.

“Let’s get something to eat?” He suggested. The demon didn’t care for food the same way that Aziraphale did, but he’d eat if it was tempting enough. Neither had so much as glanced at the food since they’d entered the room, but now that Aziraphale thought about it, it did smell delicious.

He held his arm out for her, and hers slithered through his, linking them together.

He wished it was real.

He led her through the crowd, for the first time seeing how the eyes of the guests followed them as they passed. Eyes looked Crowley up and down, appraising and approving, lingering covetously on her. Suddenly his appetite disappeared, replaced by a something that felt like a rock, heavy in his gut. He used a quick miracle to make them unnoticed as they pushed their way through the throng.

When they got to the tables of food, he kept walking. He could feel Crowley’s questioning gaze, but she followed him without a word. He needed to get out of there and clear his head. 

He led them out to a large courtyard. A beautiful maze of flowers and statues dotted the area. He could hear people talking, laughing, _moaning_, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

Aziraphale led them down the path, where they miraculously didn’t see anyone. He found them a little spot out of the way and miracled a few obstacles, ensuring their privacy for as long as they desired.

“I thought you were hungry?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale could hear the smirk in her voice. It should’ve annoyed him, but it just made him glad to have her here with him again.

He’d missed her. 

* * *

Crowley followed Aziraphale as he led her out into the courtyard. She didn’t dare hope that they were out here to do what all the other couples out here were doing. But when he led her down a vacant path and hid them in a deserted corner, she couldn’t help but get her hopes up.

“I was, but suddenly food didn’t seem so appealing,” He answered.

Crowley wanted to rip the mask off and see his face. There was something in his voice she’d never heard before and couldn’t understand. If she could see him, then maybe she’d know what he was thinking. After millennia, she thought she knew every gesture, expression and tone, but maybe she’d been wrong.

Aziraphale passing up food, especially the type of food fed to nobility at a fancy gathering, seemed so wildly out of character that Crowley felt like she was flying blind.

“But a nice walk in the fresh air was appealing?”

“Among other things,” He trailed off. They stood in silence, hidden behind a beautifully maintained hedge. The sounds of the other couples was present, but muted, like hearing underwater.

They seemed to be staring at each other, but Crowley knew that no matter how hard they looked, they wouldn’t be able to see anything. Their masks hid everything and it was infuriating.

But she wasn’t going to be the one to break the stalemate or reveal her identity. Aziraphale thought he was here with an alluring stranger, so that’s what she would be.

Even if it broke her heart. 

“Why did you bring me out here?” Crowley asked, injecting innocence into her voice, like a perfect stranger might sound.

* * *

“I thought we could practice our dancing, somewhere we won’t be ridiculed,” He replied. He didn’t want to acknowledge that it was a lie, but deep down he knew it was. What he wanted was what the other couples had found. Freedom. Passion. _Love_.

But he couldn’t have it. Not now. Not when Crowley didn’t know it was him. Not when Heaven or Hell could see. Not when they were enemies.

Never.

Crowley would never love him back.

But he could have this. This stolen moment as two complete strangers. 

“Dance with me?” He held his hand out again and his heart broke when she willingly stepped into his embrace as though she belonged there.

He miracled some music, as though it was carrying from the ballroom and he let himself be led. With every turn, they pressed closer together.

His heart was breaking, but being mended all at once. Such sweet agony. 

Without an audience, they merely swayed together. Not really dancing, but it felt like the greatest dance ever created. Aziraphale closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck as she towered above him in her heels.

She smelled just like she always had. It was so familiar and so missed that he almost sobbed. Instead, he pulled her flush against him.

* * *

Aziraphale pulled her closer and Crowley forgot how to breathe.

She _wanted_. She’d wanted for as long as she could remember, but now she wanted with an urgency she couldn’t ignore. It should be wrong, to let him this close, thinking she was a random human. But she was a demon. Lying, deceiving, and tempting were her greatest weapons.

How could it be wrong if Aziraphale didn’t know? Who was she hurting, except herself? As long as he never found out, did it matter?

She wished it didn’t, but it did. It mattered too much. She wouldn’t let him be fooled into caring for her, especially if it wasn’t truly her he cared for. If she ever had his love, it had to be real.

It would never be real.

It killed her to pull away, but she had to, before they did something they’d both regret, driving the angel away from her forever.

“My angel,” She whispered. He raised his eyes to look at her. Her hand found his hair, playing with the long strands that fell around his ears. It was the softest thing she’d ever felt, just as she’d always imagined.

“Yes, my demon?” He sighed.

It almost sent her reeling, until she remembered the horns on her mask. She smiled ruefully. How she had longed to hear him sigh her name. But it was not to be.

“I have to go.”

He began to protest, but she shook her head and he fell silent.

“I’m sorry,” How sorry she was, she could never express, “But before I go, may I steal a kiss?” It would be stolen, taken under false pretences, but she had always been a thief for his attention.

“I...” He hesitated. Of course, they would have to remove their masks.

“I promise, I won’t look. Do you promise me too?” She held the tears at bay as he nodded and stepped closer again.

“Close your eyes. On the count of three, I’m going to kiss you.”

As much as it hurt her to not look at him, she also couldn’t bear to see his innocent and trusting face as she stole this from him. She lifted her mask and heard the rustle as he removed his too.

“One. Two. Three.”

Their lips met and Crowley let the tears fall. She’d never experienced anything like it in all of her existence. Not even God’s love or creating galaxies compared as the fireworks exploded in her chest.

She vowed that one day, she’d let him know how she felt. He’d let her close as a human, so maybe one day, if she wasn’t a demon anymore, he’d return her feelings. But she would always be a demon. His demon.

* * *

Aziraphale lingered as he reluctantly pulled away. Before he even opened his eyes he knew she was gone. The feeling of her lips was imprinted on his mind.

He had never felt so happy and so bereft. She’d stolen far more than a kiss, but wasn’t that her job, to steal and to tempt?

He looked to the stars, wishing that God could talk to him and let him know that no matter how much it hurt, love was always worth it.

But all he got in return was the twinkling lights, as they’d been since before the beginning.

She’d thought she’d succeeded in tempting another human to sin, but instead, she’d dragged down an angel.

He wanted to feel guilt or shame, but all he felt was the hope that if she could want him as a human, perhaps one day, if things were different, she’d want him as he was. Her angel.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a self-indulgent little thing. I just wanted them to pine and almost get what they want, but not quite. Because I'm evil. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are the best. I appreciate them. And I appreciate you readers, whether you comment or kudos or not. Thanks for reading.


End file.
